Asshole Of The Week
Our first official winner of the Asshole of the Week No-Prize is none other than…
It was hard this week. Real hard. No one really pissed me off. No one made me think. Or made me look. And you need those traits to be an asshole. I really wanted Kobe Bryant to be the asshole of the week. But I’m biased. I couldn’t stand the guy before he was charged with rape. Or openly feuded with Shaq. Plus, Shaq isn’t the kind of person that garners sympathy. So, Kobe didn’t really do anything, outside of being his asshole self, to get the prestigious honor of asshole of the week.
Sure, I believe he raped that chick. Not because I have evidence or anything. I’m just going by instinct, the same instinct that’s telling me that Scott Petersen didn’t kill his wife. No evidence. Just instinct. Like a white man at another O.J. trial. It’s in the heart. And to clear the air, I do believe that O.J. did it. But like Chris Rock said, I understand. He killed her white ass, but I understand.
So, Kobe didn’t make the cut. But he led me on the right track. I wanted somebody out there. Someone I couldn’t get away from even if I wanted to. And just as I was thinking, I heard this annoying Jew-girl, New York accent coming from a short distance. And I had heard this sound before, actually several times before. And I looked up. And on my television screen was Rosie O’Donnell’s fat ass. Butch haircut. Talking about being away from her kids for 10 days. Talking in that annoying child-like voice, impersonanting her son. And I remember feeling cramped. Like I had gas. Or more like I had to shit… Really bad.
And I tipped to my side and passed gas, gas that bubbled under my ass, between my legs, over my nuts, and upward toward my nose. And Rosie was still there. And I knew that I had better drop a load. So, I went to the bathroom. And while I was on the toilet, it became crystal clear that Rosie should be my first pick for asshole of the week. Unless, of course someone did something more assholey than her. And as you can tell, no one did. So, here we are.
So, why Rosie, you might ask. Well, you know. It’s simple. I just can’t stand the bitch. Like I can’t stand Kobe Bryant, or Joan and Melissa Rivers, or the Hilton Sisters, or Jenny McCarthy, etc., etc., etc. You know what I’m talking about. That dude that married Liza Menelli. Martha Stewart. You know. These are people who haven’t really done anything bad. And especially, they haven’t done anything bad to you. And you hate’em. Because they’re there. And they’re taking up space. And you wonder why you know their name. And what they look like. And who they’re married to. And have they really done anything worthwhile that should make you want to know their name, or need to know their name?
Or do they seem phony. Like Jenny McCarthy. The bitch was born in Illinois and sounds like a valley girl. Where the fuck did she get that accent. And Melissa Rivers. What fuckin’ talent does this bitch possess. Who the fuck did she screw to get the position she has? Because of her mother? A fuckin’ has-been ole’ hag and her fuck-butt ugly ass daughter ripping on chicks 10 times more talented, 10 times more hotter, 10 times more deserving of the position those two hoes have.
But of course this shit isn’t about them, at least not directly. It’s about what they stand for. They deserve the public’s hate just by being out in the public, just by being part of the public’s consciousness, by stealing time away from the public. They deserve our hate by making the news. Everytime a news story mentions a Hilton Sister, or Pamela Anderson, or Carmen Electra, they’ve taken time away from real news stories of note. One minute of news on Paris Hilton does not equate to one minute of news on George Bush and the his Imaginary Vision of Weapons of Mass Destruction. Shit, I’d rather hear more about Courtney Love and her fucked up heroin addiction. Or — cough cough — Ben and J.Lo. Yeah it’s all played out, but I’ll still take that shit over those undeserving celebrity hogs.
And that’s where I’m at with Rosie O’Donnell. Here’s the deal. Rosie was a half-assed comedian with minimal success before her talk show. And she cussed and talked shit. And she told a few funny jokes. And we laughed a little. We knew very little about Rosie, about how she felt about the world, or who she was dating, or what she liked or disliked. And it was okay, because Rosie’s place in the world, doing stand-up and the occasional television show, was thought to be cemented. We would see no more, or no less of her. And the universe seemed happy with that. And everything was right with the world.
But then she got the talk show. And became Elmo’s biggest fan. Fucked up really good songs. And faked like she was juicin’ for Tom Cruise. She became the Queen of Nice. Talked about her adopted children far more than she really needed to. Denounced violence on television. Backstabbed a guest who was pro-gun. Changed a well-known magazine, McCall, to Rosie. And came out the closet with her lover. Became the “unwilling” spokesperson for gays and adoptions, Bill Clinton, 9-11, and every other issue that came up.
Then she ended her show. And walked away from the Rosie mag. And should’ve disappeared from the public eye.
Selleck Snubs Anti-Choice Rosie
Actor Tom Selleck is still uneasy about the comments made by TV talk show host Rosie O’Donnell when he was on her show earlier this year, and he doesn’t plan to appear on her show again.
Rather than discussing Selleck’s latest film, O’Donnell, a strident opponent of gun rights, instead took aim at his politics and his membership in the National Rifle Association during Selleck’s appearance on the May 20 program.
The actor called O’Donnell’s remarks disappointing and said he was not inclined to return as a guest anytime soon. “Based on that environment, why would I want to go back to it?” asked Selleck. “It wasn’t a friendly place.”
(BOO-HOOO!)
Can Rosie Save the Unsaveable?
From Queen of Nice to Royal Bitch?
Boston and New York newspapers have published some jaw-dropping snippets from O’Donnell’s weekend performance during a star-studded party at the Mohegan Sun casino in Uncasville, Connecticut. Just a day after Bill Clinton showed up at the casino to receive an honor (and then broke out his saxophone for a performance), the Democrat O’Donnell dissed the ex-President and said she refused to speak to him.
“He disgusts me,” she told the crowd, according to the New York Post. “And I know I’m not supposed to say this because I’m a good Democrat, but I didn’t want to [talk] to him because he lied to me when he said, ‘I did not have sexual relations with that woman,’ and then put the scarlet-letter bl– job on her for the rest of her life…I hate you.”
According to the New York Daily News, she also said that when she was at Liza Minnelli’s wedding (which she called “the gayest thing since my last show”), she refused to talk to Michael Jackson because “I make it a rule not to speak to pedophiles.” When the audience gasped, O’Donnell said, “Oh, come on. I think you all know that kid was probably telling the truth or else Michael wouldn’t have paid him off…he’s a freak…and not in a nice way.”
Of course, she didn’t stop there, either. “He’s cream-colored and has no nasal passages whatsoever. He doesn’t look human. Did he look into the mirror one day and say, ‘Perfect?’ “
Also a target for Rosie rage: Sharon Stone, whom O’Donnell said missed the Mohegan Sun bash because she was prepping for her next movie role–in 2004. She also ridiculed Stone for once reciting the words to John Lennon’s “Imagine” during a bizarro speech at an AIDS fundraiser. O’Donnell then ripped into Anne Heche for claiming she was never really gay, and Oprah Winfrey, who was too busy at “home counting her money” to make an appearance on the Rosie O’Donnell Show.
Why did the magazine go belly up. No one wants to say it, but, here it goes. The bitch came out. The publishers, even though they might have known she was gay when they started their partnership with O’Donnell, thought that Rosie would keep her private life personal, like she had always done before, and not turn their family-friendly magazine into a personal gay front liberation manifesto. They wanted the success of People Magazine, or Oprah, building on a celebrity brand name. They were partnering with the Queen of Nice, not the Dyke of New York. It was a business arrangement based on the fake image that Rosie, herself, had cultivated to sell herself to middle America. And when she had made her money, and did her shit, she stabbed her partners in the back.
Has Rosie O’Donnell lurched right?
Gay columnists had long criticized Rosie for her reluctance to make her sexuality public while making her family life — her motherhood — central on her talk show. For years her relationship was an open secret in Hollywood and the gay press, drawing reproach from gay journalists like Michelangelo Signorile and Andrew Sullivan, who saw her silence as irresponsible at best and cynically opportunistic at worst. (Sullivan has been more forgiving than Signorile: The latter suggested Rosie went public to silence her gay critics.) Though many gay commentators now praise her dedication, it’s a qualified praise and suspicion lingers. Michael Musto reminds his Village Voice readers that Rosie is promoting a new book and her show is in its last season.
Both sides said a key editorial dispute arose when a newly hired editor chose a cover photo that included O’Donnell and cast members of “The Sopranos” for the August 2002 edition.
“Ms. O’Donnell hated this photo because she thought it made her look fat,” Hyman said. To express her displeasure, “she threw a foul-mouthed temper tantrum” that caused the editors to switch to another photo featuring only the cast members.
O’Donnell’s lawyer, Lorna Schofield, said her client did not like the original choice, but for several reasons. O’Donnell, she said, saw the initial choice as another sign that her wishes were not being respected.
It doesn’t look Rosy for Rosie
The prosecution cited an email O’Donnell wrote to Ungaro suggesting they incorporate more controversial celebrities into the magazine like Mike Tyson and Boy George to inject some life into it and acquire the attention of younger readers.
Ungaro replied that the email showed a “reckless disregard for the brand,” pointing to a passage that implied O’Donnell didn’t care whether the magazine survived or not: “I would rather go down swimming by trying to break records than stay on the shore and watch people swim,” said O’Donnell in that email.
The magazine struggled, and Rosie was beginning to feel liberated, having revealed her well-known secret to the public. The magazine was failing, and Rosie thought to inject some life into the periodical baring her name. But she seemed to forget who her audience was. They weren’t urbanized, socially liberated, homosexuals. They didn’t want to see Boy George and Mike Tyson on their coffee stands. Shit, I don’t want to see Boy George and Mike Tyson on the coffee stands, or across the street, or anywhere else to be blunt. Her audience was the heartland, the same audience that had made Oprah rich, and has made Dr. Phil famous.
The bigger problem was, and still is, that Rosie O’Donnell was never the Queen of Nice. Many reports from behind the scenes of her own talk show chronicled her fits and tirades and bad language. And Rosie, pre-Rosie O’Donnell Show, was known for her foul mouth, and on stage rants, and questionable relationships with Madonna and Sandra Bernhard. And for whatever reason, to do her show, Mike Dougls-style, she successfully changed that image.
And that was okay. Because she was playing a part, a television role. It’s when that role was forcefully transformed into a “real life” persona was when the trouble began. Nice Rosie became political Rosie, and social Rosie, and anti-gun Rosie, and family-values Rosie, and gay-rights Rosie. Nice Rosie began to try to educate her middle American audience. And Nice Rosie tried to become a real person. And that’s a no-no. Unless of course you have skills. Like Muhammed Ali. Or Oprah. The ability to pull it off. And Rosie didn’t possess those skills.
And like a bad Twilight Zone episode. You’re screaming to your neighbors that a psycho, filthy, alien is in the alleys taking the neighborhood children and eating them. The neighbors don’t believe you. And in fact, they suspect you of doing harm to the kids. They eventually take torches to your crib and burn that shit down. They begin celebrating. And all the while, the alien’s the main instigator in the mob who got the towns people to burn your shit down.
Okay, that wasn’t a great analogy. Let me try this shit again. A crazy lady is trying to harvest the bones of… Ah, fuck it. You get me anyway. You know what the hell I’m talking about. Rosie wasn’t Oueen of Nice, nor, as many gay groups have always known, isn’t truly socially active. She has ripped on Ellen DeGeneres’s coming out party a few years earlier, when she did the exact same thing. She made her gayness part of her public persona. She has said that she is anti-gun, but worked for K-mart who sells guns, and has a bodyguard who carries guns. She’s pro-Bush, when Bush would like nothing more for her gay fat ass to get right back into the closet. And in the process relinquish custody of the children she has adopted.
Rosie takes a shine to Republicans
And remember 9-11. Rosie went on a show and got pissed off because she called up some of her friends just after the towers went down and hit them up for a couple of million. A couple of million. And she was suprised that no one stepped up. I’m sorry, it takes time for me to even pull a dollar out my ass to give to somebody else. And this bitch wanted her people to pull out a couple of million.
BEYOTCH!!!! Don’t make me haul off and backslap yo’ fake fat ass.
And now she’s back in my life. And for the next week or so, we’ll all have to put up with occasionally hearing her ass, and seeing her fucked up grill on our televisions. And here I thought I was done with seeing her. And now she’s brought Boy George out of the bath house. And she’s putting up her dough to fuck up Broadway. And I bet that show’ll make money and stay around for ages. Just to piss me off. And here I am, groveling for a 1 dollar McChicken. Broke as a fuck. Shitty ass life. Damn it. Damn it. DAMN IT!
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